


Come to the Dark Side. We have cookies.

by dancinguniverse



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 21:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15470295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinguniverse/pseuds/dancinguniverse
Summary: Stress baking at 4am.





	Come to the Dark Side. We have cookies.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. This is in response to a years-old prompt at the kinkmeme, which I have since lost the link to. If you're still out there, anon... you're welcome.

Gilfoyle’s been writing code for fourteen hours straight. It’s not the longest streak he’s ever done, but it’s not like they’re up against a deadline either. He’s just stuck. Richard and Dinesh disappeared hours ago. Dinesh had asked if he was planning on working all night, but Gilfoyle had just ignored him. He didn’t get stuck. He didn’t want to admit it.

By 3:30, he knows that logically he should give up for the night, but there's no way he’ll sleep until he cracks this issue. He gets up, stretching out his back until it pops. He needs to do something.

And somehow, fifteen minutes later, he finds himself savagely beating half-melted butter into sugar. 

He isn’t normally given to physical demonstrations of his feelings, but he has to admit it feels good to beat something after this many hours of frustration. The dough comes together just like his code hasn’t, and he's scraping the bowl to mix in the last of the flour when his eye catches on the doorway.

Dinesh stands there, blinking and rubbing his eyes, his hair tousled with sleep. "Are you  _baking?_ “ he asks, sounding genuinely baffled. "Am I dreaming? Oh my God, are you a pod person?”

“Yes, no, and no.” He picks up the Hershey’s bag, shaking chocolate chips straight into the batter, measuring cups be damned. A few of the chips scatter on the counter and he plucks them up one by one, then tosses them into his mouth. He pulls open a drawer, rummaging for two clean spoons.

Dinesh sits down at the kitchen table, watching in fascination. “I didn’t know you knew how to bake.”

Gilfoyle snorts. “Where do you think the edibles in the freezer come from?”

Dinesh peers into the bowl. “Is that what these are?”

There’s a pause as Gilfoyle scoops the first line of cookies onto a baking sheet, but Dinesh is still sleepy enough to be patient, and finally he answers. “No.”

“So they’re just cookies?”

Gilfoyle doesn’t bother to confirm, but Dinesh is pretty sure that’s what his silence indicates nonetheless. He yawns, and then sticks out a finger toward the bowl, and Gilfoyle smacks it with a spoon. “Hey!”

“I don’t know where your hands have been, but keep them out of my work.”

“My hands are as clean as my work station. You’re the one who lives like a slob." 

He expects another comeback, but Gilfoyle surprises him. "Get a spoon, you heathen.”

Dinesh can live with that. He gets up and comes back with a clean spoon. He takes a giant scoop that earns him a narrow look but no further remonstrations, and settles back into his seat with his treat.

“This is really good,” he admits, and catches Gilfoyle’s face, surprised, before it quickly smooths over to his usual dry blankness.

“Of course it is,” he says. He goes back to dropping cookie dough onto sheets, forming a surprisingly precise array of evenly sized dough balls. Dinesh watches him, nibbling on his spoon. The soft scrape of spoon on mixing bowl, along with the neatly growing rows of cookies, is almost meditative.

Dinesh relaxes back into his seat. “Hey, did you get the Dark Souls DLC yet?”

“No.”

“Huh. I thought you loved that game.”

“I do.”

“It’s been out for hours. I thought you’d be all over it.”

Again, there’s a pause while Gilfoyle scrapes overcautiously at the bottom of the mixing bowl. “I’m saving it.”

“What for?”

“When I finish my last story for the day.”

Dinesh glances at the oven clock. It’s now 3:56 am. Gilfoyle’s mouth twists in a grimace. Dinesh stares, puzzled, sucking the last bit of dough from his spoon. A smile grows on his face. “Are you stuck?” he asks, voice rising in delight. “Are you totally blocked on a coding problem, so that you resorted to making cookies at 4 am? Do you maybe need help, because if you need someone to review your code –”

“If you want a single cookie, Dinesh, you will shut the fuck up right now. The last thing my code needs is your fingerprints all over it.”

Dinesh purses his lips in a sarcastic moue. “Aww, you were going to share your cookies with me.”  

“ _Were_.”

“If you need to quit Pied Piper in your shame, you could take up baking,” Dinesh says earnestly. “Unlike your code, your cookies are really good.”

“You haven’t even had my cookies yet.” Gilfoyle shoves the baking sheets into the oven and sets a timer for twelve minutes.

“Hey,” Dinesh says. Gilfoyle is wiping flour off his glasses on the hem of his shirt. “Wanna play Halo while they bake?”


End file.
